Sara stirred and shifted on the seat, tried to prise open her heavy eyelids. She felt weak and drowsy, headachy too, and sore from the awkward position she was half-sitting, half-lying in. Hair was in her face, covering her eyes, and she tried lifting her hand to push it away, but the weight of the blanket draped over her seemed too much. She was in the car, that much she knew, clearly remembered Grissom moving the seat right back and a little down for her before helping her in.

They'd left the B&B and Laguna Beach like two thieves in the night, simply leaving their room key behind on the front desk and letting themselves out through the self-locking doors. Unsurprisingly, Mrs Garcia didn't make an appearance. Thinking back to the police turning up on their doorstep, suspecting them of poaching, instead of riling her made her smile in her slumber. And now Brass knew about them. She was sure that at some point Grissom would see the funny side too.

She stirred some more, turning and trying to sit up, her eyes cooperating this time when she blinked them open. The cabin was pitch dark, except for the dim dashboard lights, the moonlight doing little else than casting darker shadows over the already dark landscape. The monotonous drone of the Mercedes engine told her Grissom was doing a steady fifty miles an hour, that they were on the highway somewhere. Music played softly in the background, almost inaudibly.

"Go back to sleep," he instructed tenderly, his hand stroking her upper leg. "There's a long way to go still."

The next time she awoke, she felt better, more alert somehow. They were still on the road, but the sun was up and shining low straight into her eyes through the windshield. She turned her face away and with a sigh reached her right hand back, feeling for the dial that would put the seat in an upright position. She tried stretching her legs and back, brought her hand up to massage her sore neck. The blanket fell to her lap.

Her mouth was dry, sticky and she swallowed. "What time is it?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes. She sounded rough, croaky, as though she'd spent the night partying rather than sleeping.

Grissom flicked his gaze over to her. "A little after six."

"Shit." She scrunched her eyes shut against the bright light, then rummaged inside her purse at her feet for her sunglasses and put them on. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to be out for this long."

"Don't worry about it." He turned back to her. "How are you feeling?"

She cleared her throat. "Okay, I guess. Better. You?"

"I'm still good," he said, refocusing on the road, but the tired look on his face betrayed his words. "There's some water by your feet somewhere. You should drink a little, keep hydrated."

Giving a nod, Sara pushed the blanket aside, then reached down by her feet, finally locating the bottle underneath her purse. Her stomach felt different now, still queasy, but because it was empty rather than full and churning. It was almost as if she felt hungry, and yet the mere thought of food made her gag. She didn't think she could ever eat again. She broke the seal on the cap, then took a careful sip of water, grateful for the immediate relief it provided, and then another and another longer one.

"Not too much at once," Grissom intoned softly, once again taking his eyes off the road, "Or it'll dilute the concentration of sodium in your blood."

Even in her state, Sara couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips. "Yes, Doctor," she replied, lowering the bottle, and then as an afterthought, "You thirsty? You want some?"

Grissom winced. "I've got my own bottle." A sheepish look on his face, he glanced at her. "I bought some snacks too," he went on brightly, but the mention of snacks wiped the smile off her face. "Or maybe not. I'd rather you weren't sick in the car." He winced again, then turned his attention back to the road. "Please."

"So you're not feeling sick at all?" she asked. "Not even a little nauseous?"

"Nope," he replied, sounding rather smug about it, and Sara sighed. So maybe Mrs Garcia hadn't tried to poison them after all.

She looked out of the window at the landscape so she could get her bearings. They were driving past the Mojave National Preserve on the I-15, about an hour away from home. "You must be beat," she said. "We're not far. I can drive the rest of the way."

"It's okay. I'm fine," he replied, smiling at her. "I had a little shuteye when we stopped for gas earlier."

"Wow," she said, her gaze becoming distant. "I never realised. I must have conked right out."

"You were pretty out of it," he said, giving her another tender smile. "All that sleep's done you good though. You're looking much better."

Scoffing, Sara felt her hand to her face. Her skin was dry and tight; she felt grubby and she was sure she smelt too. But he was being kind and loving, and she felt heartened by his words.

"You mind if we go to yours?" he asked. "That way you'll have your car when I leave for work. Should you need it."

"Sure. Whatever."

They picked up a boisterous Hank, made a little fuss of him and drove home. While Hank reacquainted himself with her car lot, Grissom grabbed the bags, locked the car and she let them into the building. They waited for the elevator, got upstairs and inside her apartment. Hank made straight for his water bowl, and while Grissom filled it for him she headed to the bedroom. The walk up seemed to have sapped whatever strength she had regained, and she sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He came into the room, dropped their travel bags at the end of the bed and handed her the bottle of water.

"You should drink some more," he said, smiling at her encouragingly, "Then get into bed. I'm going to take Hank around the block and I'll join you. He'll have to wait until this afternoon for a longer walk."

She nodded. "I'm going to grab a shower and then make you some breakfast. You must be hungry."

"I'm fine. I just want to crash out." He stooped to kiss her on the lips before he left, calling for Hank.

Sara drank a little water, then closed her eyes and wearily pushed to her feet. In the bathroom, she turned the shower on, got undressed and after tying her hair back slipped under the warm shower. She felt better afterwards, certainly cleaner, if not much revived. She wished the fog would lift in her head. She was getting into clean pyjamas when Hank and Grissom returned. Grissom showered, then joined her in bed. They snuggled up close and fell asleep at once.

When she woke again, Grissom's side of the bed was empty. The time on the bedside clock read 2pm. She got up, finding him in the kitchen. He was at the stove with his back to her, talking quietly to Hank. Even though she didn't feel hungry, the smell of food didn't make her gag anymore, which she thought a good sign. Hank stood up to meet her. She stroked his hand to his muzzle, then walked up to Grissom, draping her arms around his midriff from behind and leaning her head on his shoulder. Smiling, he turned his face toward her.

"You want a little?" he asked, nodding at the cheesy egg mixture cooking in the skillet.

"I'd rather not," she said with a shake of the head.

He folded the omelette, switched the heat off, then turned in her arms and they embraced. When they pulled apart, he reached into a cupboard for a glass, filled it with tap water and handed it to her. She took the glass with a knowing smile and brought it to her lips.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, putting bread in the toaster.

"Like I'm over the worst of it now."

"Still not hungry, though, huh?"

Smiling, she shook her head and sat down at the counter, setting the glass down in front of her.

"Give your stomach a rest today, but I reckon by tomorrow you'll feel hungry again."

He transferred the omelette onto a plate and waited for the bread to pop up to bring the food and a glass of orange juice to the table and sit down alongside her. Automatically she picked up the knife and spread jam onto his toast, while he hungrily cut into the omelette before bringing a large morsel to his mouth.

"I'm going to take Hank to the park and then head into work," he said chewing. "Are you going to be okay?"

She gave a nod. "I don't mind taking Hank," she said.

He seemed to ponder her words. "I tell you what. I don't have to rush off. Why don't we both go?"

A smile formed on Sara's face. "Deal."

They took a slow wander to Sara's local park and back, the sun and fresh air doing her good. When they got back, Grissom got ready for work and Sara settled herself with Lee Child and Hank on the couch.

"Remind me to bring more clothes over," he said, coming back into the lounge. "I'm running out."

Looking up, Sara nodded her head, made a mental note to do some laundry before shift.

"Don't tell me how it ends," he went on, nodding at the book in her hand, "If you finish the book before I do, that is."

"I won't."

Grissom bent down and they kissed. She liked how intimate it had become between them, how comfortable and comforting too. She loved that in the last year or so she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights – or rather days – they'd spent apart. His place or hers, it didn't matter anymore. They were interchangeable. She'd never had that in her life before. Such closeness and intimacy. Such love. Never. She'd never been as close to another human being as she was with him. He knew her deepest secrets, her deepest fears. And instead of feeling scared or vulnerable, overwhelmed by it, she felt strengthened.

"I'll see you in four hours," she said, smiling softly.

He registered a look of surprise. "Oh, no, you won't. You're taking the night off."

"I can't," she replied. "I've already had three nights off."

"This is not up for negotiation, Sara," he said, his tone firm.

"Food poisoning isn't contagious, Gil, and I'm feeling much better, much stronger than I did even this morning."

"What if it's not food poisoning, huh? What if you caught a bug? I don't want it spreading around the lab."

"If I'd caught a bug," she countered, "it would have already spread to you, the amount of close contact we've had."

A grudging smile formed, tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well, maybe not. I've the constitution of an ox."

"Gil—"

He sighed. "Sara, please, take the night off. Give your body a little time to recover."

"Okay, let's compromise," she said. "What if you don't send me out in the field and I do lab work. Paperwork even, that's it."

"Sara—"

"That way, I can work at my own pace. And if I don't feel well, I promise to stop and go home."

Grissom's lips pursed thoughtfully. "There's going to be a lot of paperwork to catch up on."

"I know."

"Catherine's got the night off. I guess you could use her office. Like quarantine."

"Exactly."

Beaten, he gave a lengthy sigh. "I can't stop you from turning up anyway, can I?"

Sara's reply was to smile brightly.

"And I guess, that way, I get to keep an eye on you." After a moment's hesitation, he gave his head a shake, then leaned forward again and kissed her lips. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I won't."

"And drink plenty of water."

She watched as he said goodbye to Hank, before he opened the door and with a long, hesitant pause at the threshold went on his way. Smiling, she turned her attention to Reacher. She'd barely started chapter two than already she'd dozed off.

Sara was in the locker room at the start of shift, stowing her jacket and purse away, when Grissom walked in. "So I put a stack of files on Catherine's desk for you to work through," he said without preamble.

Turning toward him, she gave a nod.

He paused, looked toward the open door then at the assignment slip in his hand. His tone was softer, less business-like, when he next spoke. "You sure you're up to it?"

"I'm sure."

A tender smile on his lips, he ran loving eyes over her face. "Okay."

"Yo, Griss. Sara," Warrick said, ambling into the room.

"Hey," Sara replied, startling as she turned back to her locker, while Grissom answered a more composed, "Warrick."

Warrick opened his locker, and Sara and Grissom exchanged a quick, furtive look. She hoped they weren't being as transparent as she felt.

"How was Texas?" Warrick asked.

"Texas?" Grissom repeated with surprise.

"Your conference?" Sara piped up, her brow arched with interest.

"Oh, it was great. Better than great actually. Maybe the best conference I've ever attended."

Warrick pursed his face in consideration. "Managed to get yourself a tan. Can't have spent that much time indoors."

Grissom flicked his eyes to Sara. "I—I…there was a field trip component to the conference, so I did get to spent time outdoors."

Pretending to rummage in her purse, Sara pinched her lips to suppress her amusement.

"You, Sara?" Warrick went on.

"Me too," she replied distractedly.

"You too what?"

She refocused. "I had a great time too, thank you for asking."

Warrick frowned. He was going to talk again when Grissom said, "Sara was just telling me she fell ill during her time off. Spent most of it on the toilet?"

Warrick made a face while Sara narrowed her eyes at Grissom and he shrugged his shoulder innocently.

"Food poisoning, I think," she told Warrick. "A bad mussel probably," she added, and then looking at Grissom, "nothing contagious it would seem."

"You ate mussels?" Warrick exclaimed, his face lighting up with mischief. "You went on a date?"

Sara cursed inwardly. Grissom cocked a brow in interest. Looking amused, he was waiting to see how she'd get herself out of that one. Whistling to himself and much to her relief, Nick walked in.

"Sara here's got a man in her life we don't know about," Warrick told Nick before she could change tack, his tone mock-accusing. "He's taken her to some fancy restaurant and given her food poisoning."

"Oh, yeah?" Nick said, opening his locker, clearly happy to play along with the teasing. "Do you think that's the same man—"

"It is indeed," Brass said, standing in the doorway, "Yours truly here, who else?"

He looked over at Sara. His eyes were playful, cunning. He might give her and Grissom a little stick over the relationship behind closed doors, but she knew he would have their backs. He knew their secret, and it wasn't the end of the world.

"I told you to take the night off," Brass went on. "You look like death warmed over." And then in the same breath, turning toward Grissom, "Gil, I need a word."

Looking stunned, Grissom nodded at Brass. He glanced at Sara, then at the assignment slip in his hand. "You two are heading out," he said, addressing Nick and Warrick. "Trick roll at Super 8 in North Vegas." He gave the slip to Nick and followed Brass out.

Warrick and Nick exchanged looks of puzzlement before they shook their heads.

Greg came bounding in, looked at the people there and frowned. "What's going on? What did I miss?"

Taking her bottle of water, Sara winked at him, then closed her locker door. "I'll be in Catherine's office if you need me."

A few hours into shift, and Sara kept nodding off as she worked. She hated to admit that Grissom was right, but maybe it was time she called it a night. She was signing off on another case when there was a quiet knock on the glass door. Looking up, she smiled. Grissom came in, carrying a mug and a small plate, and carefully closed the door after him.

"How are you getting on?" he asked, his expression soft as he smiled at her.

Briefly, Sara wondered whether he'd seen her dozing through the plate glass.

"Slowly," she said in a sigh, patting the stack of files she'd reviewed.

Putting the mug and plate on the desk, he sat down at one of the visitors' chairs across from her. "No, I meant you."

Her expression softened. "I'm okay." She rubbed at the back of her neck and shrugged. "A little tired actually, this is all so tedious."

He chuckled. "Welcome to my world." He pushed the mug toward her. "It's weak tea, sweetened, and a couple of saltines. Easy on your stomach."

His solicitude touched her. "Thank you." She picked up the mug and tentatively brought it to her mouth, wet her lips and then took a small sip. She waited for an adverse reaction and, when none came, she took a larger gulp.

"Sorry about the guys earlier," he said, smiling sheepishly.

"It wasn't your fault."

"You think they suspect anything?"

Sara looked past his shoulder through the plate glass and open blinds to the lab beyond.

"They're still out," he said, "if that's what you're worried about."

She refocused tender eyes on him and smiled.

"So?"

"I think we're going to be okay."

He gave a thoughtful nod.

Smiling, she picked up a saltine and began nibbling at it. "What did Jim want earlier?"

Grissom chuckled. "He wanted to know all the details."

"What did you tell him?"

His smile turned wistful. "The truth." He stared at her at length, his expression as soft and loving as his gaze.

"He has our backs," she said.

His smile broadened. "I know." He paused, nodded his head. He was looking pensive now, and she frowned. "Jim and I were talking and…" He paused again, his shoulder lifting. "I was thinking…well, I think we should move in together."

Her frown deepened. "We already have."

"No. I mean, properly, you know? I—I think we should look for a place together, somewhere we would call our own, rather than mine, or yours."

Sara opened her mouth, only to shut it again. His words, totally out of the blue as far as she was concerned, left her stunned into silence.

"Anyway," he went on, as casually as if he'd asked whether she wanted Italian or Chinese for dinner, "just think about it. There's no pressure."

He gave her a soft, uncertain smile, and made to reach for her hand but, seemingly remembering where he was, pushed to his feet instead. "I'd better get back to my stack of files."

Still shocked by his proposition, she gave him a nod and a soft smile. "Thanks for these," she said, motioning at the tea and crackers.

"You're welcome."

"Gil?" she called when he opened the door to leave.

He turned.

"Yes," she said, smiling brightly. "Yes. I think we should too."

His face lit up, and he gave her a nod before glancing over his shoulder hesitantly. "I'll see you at mine?"

She nodded. "I'll pick Hank up on the way."

"And I'll get breakfast."

She stared at the closed door long after he left. She knew he wouldn't have asked if it wasn't what he wanted and if he didn't think they could make it work. She wondered then what had made him ask. Was it because they'd had such a great vacation together? Because she'd been sick and he'd felt protective of her? Was it something Brass had said?

Whatever it was, it didn't matter.

He was ready to take the next step in their relationship, and so was she.


The End.